Compromised
by Lynse
Summary: Harriet Cane is trying to get something on Vladimir Masters—photos, dirt, anything—but she's getting nowhere…until she overhears a private conversation and discovers far more than she bargained for. One shot, written for the 2019 Phic Phight


A/N: Written for the 2019 Phic Phight and based off a prompt by Sapphireswimming: _Stakeout - A member of the paparazzi becomes increasingly frustrated during their stakeouts of the home of billionaire Vlad Masters, but realizes that it's finally about to pay off when they can hear someone talking inside._ Outsider POV, since the story is told from the perspective of an OC. Standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

Harriet Cane had decided to throw caution to the wind and go undercover. She'd heard stories about Amity Park, of course, but everyone had. The eclectic mix of ridiculousness and horror hadn't been enough to put her off. She'd been convinced most of it had been invented by the townsfolk in an effort to boost tourism—why else would a place hold _ghost tours_?—and that the rest, likely as not, had merely been perpetuated by her colleagues and rivals.

She'd been wrong.

She'd known that Vladimir Masters was infamous for how he managed to be such a public figure but lead such a private life. Photographing him and getting any sort of story promised to be a near-impossible feat, but she hadn't intended to stick out. She'd given herself a reason to be toting around a camera—a freelance journalist scouting out a scary story in what was supposedly America's most haunted town—and a fake name in case anything backfired. (Her pseudonym, Falyn Rayne, had been teasingly suggested by one of her colleagues. She'd bet him that she could get the story despite it and stood to gain a fine bottle of whisky when she returned.) She'd figured all she needed to do was to get close enough to Masters to get a few good shots and overhear a few juicy tidbits, and the story would write itself.

She planned to ask him directly for an interview, of course, to do everything properly.

Just not right away.

The stories from those who had, been refused, and persisted anyway were…unpleasant.

And inexplicable.

Well.

They had been inexplicable—until she'd actually arrived in Amity Park and realized that her cover story could have been as simple as an interest in ghosts (or whatever the entities really were). That might have been safer, considering Tiffany Snow had sent her out with Lance Thunder and there were now these floating green _things_ divebombing them, and—

"_Just take her out when you do the weather report_," Lance said in a poor mimic of Tiffany's voice. "_What's the worst that could happen?_" He whimpered and covered his hair. "Why does this always happen to me?"

One of the vulture-like creatures came close enough to snag her camera strap in its talons, and Harriet shrieked and surrendered it. She'd hit the pavement and crawled over to crouch beside Lance in the shadow of the news truck before she had a chance to wonder how the thing had managed to get her camera without her getting caught in the strap. It had been around her neck, and she hadn't even felt its claws. Unless that cold rake across her spine…?

The bird thing beat its wings lazily, did a slow loop overhead, and looked back at her before dropping her camera—her _livelihood_—on the sidewalk. The casing cracked, the lens shattered, and she wondered if this was somehow her fault for suggesting shooting the weather report with the mayor's manor in the background.

* * *

Harriet didn't fare any better the next day. Armed with her spare camera, she talked Lance into taking her to city hall.

This time, she was treated to some kind of flying robot (_hunter ghost_, according to Lance) shooting _missiles_ at what looked like a flying teenager, and—

"Just take cover," Lance hissed at her. "You don't want to be out in the— Hello, Tiffany! As you can see, Amity Park's favourite ghost boy is playing dodge-the-missile with Skulker. City Hall and the street beyond have sustained minimal damage so far, but…."

Harriet winced as another explosion went off behind them, making Lance's most recent statement a lie.

She didn't want to give up yet, but that didn't mean she wasn't regretting her life choices.

She focused as best she could on Amity Park City Hall, but if the explosions bothered the mayor, he never materialized. Not that she expected him to. No one smart would be out in the middle of an attack like this. The fact that she still was made her wonder if she was as crazy as the people who voluntarily chose to live here.

She declined a ride back to the news station with Lance once the story was over and the ghosts were gone. Instead, she lingered on the steps, clutching her camera and hoping for a glimpse of the elusive Mr. Masters on his way home.

She didn't leave until ten that night. She had her taxi 'take the scenic route' back to her hotel—that is, past the mayor's mansion—and saw the lights on. (Her cab driver approved of her decision, nodding sagely and informing her that most newcomers weren't smart enough to avoid the streets the Fentons frequented, whatever that meant.) Masters must have slipped out another way. She gritted her teeth but resolved to catch him tomorrow.

* * *

Harriet didn't catch him the next day, or the day after that, but she _did_ get a lead. With the help of her new friends at the local news station, it wasn't very hard to dig up the fact that Vladimir Masters had once been very good friends with the local ghost hunters, Jack and Madeline Fenton. Like them, he had once dabbled in paranormal science himself, before leaving it behind and—clearly very wisely—pursuing other, much more lucrative avenues.

She went to talk to the Fentons to get an idea of whether or not their old college buddy regularly kept in touch. If they were privy to his schedule, they might let something slip. Old friends were a lot less guarded with their tongues than secretaries or other staff, though she'd done her fair share of bribing those folks in the past. This time, the information might not even cost her anything beyond a few hours of her time.

Madeline Fenton answered the door, immediately told 'Falyn' that she simply _must_ call her Maddie, and informed her husband that they had company. Harriet found herself ushered to their kitchen table, where Maddie promptly offered her tea or coffee and set out cookies. She'd just placed a cup of coffee in front of Harriet when the door at the end of the kitchen opened and the man who could only be Jack Fenton bounded towards them, his arms laden with a mishmash of technology she'd never seen before.

Before Harriet had a chance to open her mouth, Jack began regaling her with story after story about ghosts, showing off each weapon he and his wife had invented as he did. She learned more from him in three hours than she had in the last few days, but none of it was about Vladimir Masters.

She never saw him pause for breath, let alone eat a cookie, but by the time he asked her if she wanted to buy anything to protect herself while in town, there was nothing on the plate in front of them but crumbs.

It wasn't in her budget, but she bought a Fenton Lipstick anyway.

When she finally did manage to drop Masters's name into the conversation, all she got was the gushing adoration of old friends. The Fentons did not meet up with their college buddy on even a semi-regular basis, seemed to have no idea of his schedule or what he did when he wasn't at the office, and were just happy to go support him at public events or be delighted on the rare occasions when he decided to drop by unannounced.

Nothing new.

Nothing useful.

Just another dead end.

* * *

A week later, Harriet hadn't so much as _glimpsed_ Vladimir Masters. She'd staked out his home. She'd staked out his work. She'd lost both cameras and was on her second loan from the local news station, and her cover story was nearly in tatters after she'd completely forgotten to respond to _Falyn_ and _Ms. Rayne_. Her meals were sporadic, her sleep schedule even more so, and she just _really_ didn't want to have to find five hundred dollars to pay for the bottle of whisky she'd owe Paul if she didn't pull this off.

She _had_ to get something on Masters.

_Anything_.

Kneeling behind rosebushes in his garden wasn't ideal, but she might as well have scars on the outside to match the scars on her soul at this point. Scratched and bleeding couldn't make her look much worse right now. She might not be as dead as all the ghosts that frequented this hellish town, but she certainly felt that way.

Despite the cold stone behind her, the damp earth beneath her, and the thorny branches jabbing into almost every part of her body, Harriet was in such a sleep-deprived daze that she didn't realize what she was hearing at first.

It wasn't the radio.

It wasn't the TV.

It was Masters.

It was _finally_ Vladimir Masters.

He was home. She hadn't seen his car come up the lane, hadn't seen _any_ car come up the lane, but that didn't matter, because he was _finally home_. She eased her notebook from her pocket, checked the time, and started taking notes.

She couldn't catch every word, and the gist wasn't making much sense. _Scout the area_, sure, okay, she could explain that, easy. _Keep watch for Phantom, don't rely just on technology_, yes, that made perfect sense, given what she had seen so far. Phantom tended to show up wherever there was trouble, and half the time he brought it to the area, already fighting another ghost or that flying ghost hunter in red. But _I've upgraded your missiles_? Not exactly something she'd expect the mayor of a small town to say, secretive billionaire or not.

Carefully stowing the pad in her pocket and the pencil behind her ear, Harriet picked up her camera and peeked through the window.

She couldn't stop a surprised squeak from escaping her mouth as she dropped down again. She'd have to look again—she _needed_ photographic evidence—but….

The robot ghost known as Skulker had his back to her, floating two feet above the floor and close enough that she could see every nut, bolt, scratch, and dent of his armour, but across from him? Pacing back and forth mere inches above plush purple carpet? This was the first time she'd seen the ghost in person, but after her extensive studying of news footage over the last week, she knew exactly who she was looking at: Vlad Plasmius, formerly known as the Wisconsin Ghost.

There were ghosts in the mayor's mansion.

There were ghosts _at home_ in the mayor's mansion.

The mayor himself was nowhere in sight, but….

Harriet took more than a few steadying breaths before she could work up the courage to look again. Being spotted by Masters and thrown out by the security he surely had hiding somewhere was one thing; being spotted by two very dangerous ghosts was quite another, especially when that kid ghost Phantom wasn't around so she could use his distracting heroics to cover her getaway.

She wasn't following their conversation any longer, but they were still there. She raised her camera and snapped a series of pictures before dropping down again as Plasmius turned. She wasn't willing to risk her life to get a picture of him looking straight at her, not when it meant he'd spot her. She wanted to keep whatever photos she got.

Harriet leaned against the stone foundation, gasping for breath as if she'd already been running for her life. This wasn't over. She knew this wasn't over. There was a story here, and she had to break that story. She normally just went in for the photographs—there was a lot of money in selling a good photo of an elusive celebrity to the right people, and she was quite good at what she did—but her cover story wasn't just for kicks, either. Not anymore.

She didn't just owe Lance Thunder for risking life and limb taking her out and showing her the sights despite the ghost attacks they invariably encountered. She didn't just owe Tiffany Snow for convincing the higher ups at News 4 to lend her not one camera but two. She owed everyone at the station for giving her what she needed to survive her stint in this crazy town, for all their ghost tips and insider information and donated time, and something like this? She could repay them with something like this.

Assuming she could find out what exactly _this_ was.

Once she had her breathing under control again, she pressed her ear to the wall and focused.

Everything made a lot more sense now that she knew it was Plasmius speaking to Skulker. The hunter ghost seemed to be in Plasmius's employ—though she had no idea what Plasmius had promised the other ghost—and was more than happy to target Phantom. She knew the young ghost was more than just a hero to the people of this town; he was a local legend who could do very little wrong, providing you asked someone beyond the resident ghost hunters. Were Skulker able to take him out, the people here would be afraid.

Maybe that's what Plasmius wanted: fear, the power vacuum that could result in the chaos, and the opportunities he'd have if he played his cards right.

But even if that gave Skulker something he wanted—the prize of capturing Phantom and all the gloating rights that granted him—it didn't explain why this conversation was happening here. Ghosts, she'd learned, lived in the Ghost Zone. For all that they frequented this realm, they didn't belong here. Not really.

So why were they having this conversation in this world, in the _mayor's mansion_, instead of some ghostly lair that they reputedly had? Just because no one had cracked Masters's security yet didn't mean it was invincible—her presence here was proof enough of that—and if the plan was a power grab in Amity Park, it didn't make sense to compromise it by taking such unnecessary risks. If Masters came home—

"Draw him out." That was Plasmius's voice again. "I'll monitor your activity before starting Phase II."

"You don't need to send those vultures out again," growled Skulker. "I'm the Ghost Zone's Greatest Hunter. I don't _need_ them to distract my prey. I can do that myself!"

"Yes, of course. My mistake. Please, go fetch your prize, and then we'll talk."

Harriet hit the dirt and raised her camera just in time to catch Skulker phasing through the wall above her.

She held her breath and didn't give him a reason to look down.

The self-proclaimed Ghost Zone's Greatest Hunter never saw her, but she didn't allow herself a breath until he was a mere speck in the distance.

She carefully drew herself up to peer through the window again, wondering if Plasmius was still there. He wasn't, but she received another shock: Vladimir Masters, slumped in a chair. If he was talking to himself—or to the white cat that had wandered into the room and was making for his feet—she couldn't hear him.

She snapped a few more pictures.

She still didn't have proof, but she definitely had reason to dig deeper.

Had Masters been home the entire time? Had he simply been in another room? Was he even aware of the meeting the ghosts had had moments before? She'd never seen him arrive, but after the last week and a half, she knew that meant nothing.

Well.

It _probably_ meant nothing.

Harriet bit her lip. The idea was a crazy one, but perhaps a little less so, given where she was. She needed something far more substantial to call it proof, of course, but there was enough there to justify digging in this direction.

Skulker proved that ghosts could turn other things invisible, not just the ectoplasm that made up their bodies, and she'd seen Phantom transfer his powers to various people and objects—either making them invisible or intangible—and she knew from her research and Jack Fenton's lectures that other ghosts could do the same, Plasmius included. So what if that included Vladimir Masters?

It would explain why she never saw him, why almost no one had managed to get a good photo of him unless he very clearly wanted it and the resulting publicity. Plasmius was obviously willing to cut deals with ghosts; he might be willing to do that with the local mayor, too, in exchange for…. She wasn't even sure. Immunity? She hadn't exactly gotten the impression that the Fentons avoided hunting Plasmius, even if they had first dubbed him the Wisconsin Ghost—

Wait.

The Wisconsin Ghost.

The Wisconsin Ghost, who was now rarely seen in Wisconsin, and who hadn't begun appearing regularly in Amity Park until Vladimir Masters's campaign, where he'd surprised everyone by moving to a different state and running for public office.

Still not proof, but definitely another reason to dig. The apparent coincidence felt too contrived to be mere happenstance.

Maybe Plasmius really had struck a deal with Vladimir Masters, a long time ago, and maybe this whole business of moving and becoming mayor was part of Masters's end of the bargain, whatever it amounted to. The Fentons had told her about their Fenton Ghost Portal. It would make sense that a ghost seeking power would want some measure of control over that.

Harriet pressed her ear to the wall again, hoping that Plasmius would come back and talk to Masters. If Masters _had_ been aware of Plasmius's presence, of the way he was organizing the other ghosts against Phantom, of the various plans that were undoubtedly being laid—

"Someday, Maddie," Masters said—and it took Harriet a moment to realize he must be talking to his cat, since Madeline Fenton was probably at home working on a new cookie recipe or a new invention— "that boy will come to his senses and realize what we have to offer him."

_We_. As in him and Plasmius? That made a lot more sense than him and the cat.

"Skulker won't beat him now, even with his new upgrades. Even if I don't send in the vultures—even if I _do_ send in Valerie, as I'd planned—he won't get him now. But when Daniel defeats him again, when he evades Valerie, he'll think that's all I've got, and he'll let his guard down. That's when I'll get him."

It still _sounded_ like Masters, but Harriet risked another look just to be sure. It was him, even if the words were more befitting of Plasmius. After all, it was Skulker and _Plasmius_ that had talked about Skulker's upgrades and the vultures. She supposed Daniel must refer to Phantom—she had heard him called Danny Phantom, just as she'd discovered he'd once been dubbed Inviso-Bill—but she had no idea who this _Valerie_ was supposed to be.

Still, Masters was clearly aware of what Plasmius and Skulker had discussed. Intimately. And he didn't sound afraid.

That made it even more likely that there was some sort of partnership between them, and Harriet had no idea who in their right mind would want to partner with a _ghost_. Even without sitting through Jack Fenton's lecture, she wasn't sure how readily she'd be able to trust a ghost like Plasmius. He seemed the sort that could terribly charming when he wanted to be and tremendously awful when he didn't. The very thought sent shivers down her spine.

Plasmius was the sort of ghost who'd stab you in the back if he thought it would serve his purposes, regardless of any deal you struck.

"The poor boy really has no idea what a feint is. He has so much to learn from me."

What could Masters teach a ghost? That didn't make sense. She remembered that the Fentons had a boy named Danny—he and his sister had come home from school when she'd been trapped in the kitchen, though neither had been foolish enough to stay past the initial introductions when they'd been called in to meet her—but he was just a kid. The way Masters was talking, this Daniel had fought Skulker before, multiple times, and continually prevailed. If there was even an ounce of truth to Skulker's claim about his skills, it was highly unlikely a teen could do that, son of ghost hunters or not.

And she _did_ know that Phantom routinely battled and defeated the ghost.

"This doesn't make any sense," she muttered. She was still missing too much, and the few photographs she had weren't enough evidence of anything, let alone a claim as outrageous as she was beginning to think she wanted to make. She needed to get Masters on tape. She needed…she needed….

Somewhere, a phone started ringing. "Oh, butter biscuits, what is it now?"

She watched long enough to see him leaving the room, and then she took her chance.

Vladimir Masters had no visible security, but she was beginning to think that was because he had very _invisible_ security on patrol. Plasmius didn't seem the type to lower himself to that sort of work, but the vultures she'd encountered on her first day were. She should have bought that Fenton Finder contraption from the Fentons, but she hadn't thought she'd need it. Now, it would be nice to know no one was around to see what she was doing.

Two rooms down at the edge of the house, a window was cracked. Harriet pushed her way through the thorny roses with a curse, bent low, and ran for it. It took more than a bit of work to force the window open wide enough for her to wedge in her camera, turned on and recording and more or less aimed at the desk beyond, but she managed it as quickly as she could. She was thankful now that her second loaner camera been downgraded to a what she suspected was merely a cheap digital model; it was smaller than anything she'd had before, and it would still work well enough for her purposes now. It wasn't exactly concealed, but it was the best she could do.

Of course, the study was empty now, but if she had her way, it wouldn't be for long.

She turned on her handheld recorder and slipped it into her pocket before making herself as presentable as possible. Judging by her reflection in the window, she still looked a far cry from it, despite scrubbing the dirt from her knees and hurriedly washing her face in the fountain, always keeping an eye out for any hint of security. When she didn't think her appearance would get any better—that is, look less like she'd spent half the day crawling around in the dirt—she picked a final stray leaf out of her hair and rang the doorbell.

To her immense surprise, Vladimir Masters himself opened it. "Yes?" He looked annoyed, though from the earlier phone call or her presence, she couldn't be sure.

"Mr. Masters? I'm Falyn Rayne, a _huge_ fan, and I was wondering—"

"No comment," he said, beginning to close the door.

She stuck her foot in the jamb. "I'm sorry, sir, but it's not like that, really. I spoke with the Fentons earlier, and they raved about your earlier work in paranormal studies. I know you've left the field behind, but I was hoping to talk to you about how the field has changed, especially given the breakthroughs here in Amity Park in recent years."

His eyes narrowed, but all he said was, "I'm afraid I haven't the time. Good day, Ms. Rayne."

"Please—"

She hadn't moved her foot, but suddenly the door closed, and she drew back despite herself.

She prodded at it tentatively with her shoe, but it was as solid as ever. As it should be. Because it was a door.

Except the door shouldn't have closed when she _knew_ her foot had been keeping it open.

"That shouldn't have happened," she muttered, but it had, and there was certainly no denying that. Maybe he had forced her back without her realizing it. The pressure on her foot _had_ suddenly let up….

Harriet gave up on that particular mystery in favour of more important things: making a big show of leaving in hopes of fooling the hidden security, wherever they were. Sure, they'd probably watched her crawl from the bushes and try to clean herself up in the first place, but they hadn't stopped her or escorted her off the grounds.

Maybe that was because they were waiting to see what she would do. Maybe it was because they didn't exist. She really had no idea at this point. The idea that Masters might somehow employ ghosts to patrol his grounds seemed no less ridiculous to her than the idea of him having some secret lair where all the footage he was collecting of his home—and no doubt the places he frequented—was being constantly surveyed. She'd run into rather extravagant security systems before, and this had seemed rather easy in comparison.

Half an hour later, she sneaked back in the way she had first come: scaling the wrought iron fence, skirting the treeline on the edge of the property, darting between bushes and trees, and keeping to the shadows as much as possible before making that last risky run for the manor and the garden in front. She didn't expect to get the opportunity to eavesdrop on Masters again, but she wanted to retrieve her camera before it was discovered—assuming it wasn't already too late.

It wasn't.

Even better, the study was occupied. She didn't even need to go through her own footage to see she'd gotten lucky. And Masters was talking to—

Harriet blinked.

That was the Red Huntress. Thanking Mr. Masters for his help and for the new weapons. Stepping back onto her jetsled as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Getting ready to leave.

No. Harriet didn't want this to be over, not yet. This was a goldmine, or could be, with a bit of help. She needed a conversation. She needed answers. She needed a distraction. To give the Red Huntress a reason to stay.

She retrieved her camera, pulled out the laser lipstick, said a prayer to a god she wasn't entirely sure she believed in, and took aim.

The doubtlessly priceless vase behind the Red Huntress shattered, and the girl visibly jumped. She looked towards the vase. Harriet ducked as Masters turned instead towards the window. She hadn't expected him to put two and two together so soon. If he called his security on her now—

"Oh, crud, you've got a ghost here, Mr. Masters!" the Red Huntress exclaimed, and Harriet risked a look even knowing what it might cost her. Masters was—thankfully—focused on the Red Huntress, and the woman in question was looking at some sort of screen that seemed to have come out of the arm on her suit (though Harriet had no idea how it could collapse as seamlessly as it must).

"Do I?" There was concern in Masters's voice, but….

"Don't worry; I'll find that ghost scum and take care of it for you!" promised the Red Huntress. She didn't dismount from her sled, instead ducking her head as she shot through the open doorway.

Harriet frowned.

Had those doors really been open the entire time? She could've sworn they'd been closed earlier. She'd have to check to the tape. She'd have to—

Masters was turning around again, and Harriet swore under her breath and dove for the bushes. If she was lucky, he wouldn't think too much of the disturbed dirt beneath the window—she had encountered rabid-looking ghost rabbits the other day, and spotted a live one to boot—but there was a very clear hole in the screen from the laser weapon, and she couldn't hide that.

Or the fact that the window was open wider than he'd left it.

He frowned at it and stared out the window.

She held her breath and didn't move.

He closed the window and turned away.

She swapped the video card in her camera, secured it as best she could in the branches while still capturing the view of the study through the window, and started filming again. She crept back to the house, trying to listen. She'd never get recorded audio through an outside wall, not with the window closed again, but—

The sudden, shuddering booms of multiple explosions from inside the manor were unmistakeable—and all too reminiscent of when she and Lance had been caught outside of city hall, terribly exposed as the ghosts fought above them. Harriet jerked as the first explosion sent shockwaves through the foundation and nearly fell back into the bushes and sent her poor camera toppling to the ground. She could hear screaming now, too, but screams of frustration, not of terror.

Harriet backed away from the window. A glance down the length of the house told her the glass in the windows had held, and if there was smoke, none of it had made its way outside. She couldn't smell it, either. Perhaps the damage inside wasn't as bad as she'd thought—or perhaps the manor had been built with ghosts in mind and could withstand a good deal more than she was used to.

Harriet settled a few feet to the right of her camera, crouched and ready to spring away should the need arise. Her vantage point wasn't perfect, but the view was good enough to see the important thing: Vladimir Masters ducking—presumably beneath his desk—a moment before the Red Huntress burst back into the study, chasing Plasmius.

The ghost looked uncharacteristically terrified, but behind that terror…. There was something else there. Annoyance? Amusement? Whatever the case, Harriet had never doubted the genuineness of an expression more, too aware of the performance that was surely behind this one to be fooled. If Masters willingly worked with both Plasmius and the Red Huntress, Plasmius had no real reason to fear. Even if the Red Huntress were unaware of Masters's relationship with the ghost, it was clear that she'd defer to Masters. From the sounds of it, he supplied her with weapons, which meant he got to call the shots.

The Red Huntress captured Plasmius in a glowing pink net and then trapped him in what looked suspiciously like an off-brand Fenton Thermos.

"It's safe now, Mr. Masters." The pride in the Red Huntress's voice was clear. "I'll leave him with you." She put the thermos on the desk as Masters rose to his feet again. "Thanks for the new weapons; they work great. I can't wait to show them to Phantom." Beneath the tinted visor, Harriet caught a flash of teeth. "I need to finish my homework, but I'll head out on patrol later tonight. Don't worry. I'm going to protect this town!"

_Homework_. The word hit Harriet hard. The Red Huntress was young. Neither Amity Park nor the neighbouring Elmerton had a community college, which made the natural conclusion _high school_.

The Red Huntress, Harriet realized, must be the Valerie Masters had mentioned earlier. A high school student—or possibly someone doing distance education—who had already decided to dedicate so much of her time to ghost hunting in order to protect her town. How had she wound up doing something like that? The Fentons' daughter was named Jasmine. Jazz. Not _Valerie_. And if it were merely a case of an interest in ghost hunting, Harriet was all too aware of how willing the Fentons would be to take someone under their wing.

The Red Huntress shot through an open window high above Harriet and disappeared.

Harriet watched in silence as Masters picked up the thermos and released Plasmius. She couldn't be surprised by the action, not anymore, and a glance assured her that the action had been caught on video. That much, at least, would be undeniable.

And then it got worse.

So, so much worse.

Plasmius flew towards Masters.

Flew _into_ Masters.

Masters made no move to defend himself. He had willingly released the ghost. And then he had willingly allowed himself to be possessed—_overshadowed_, her brain whispered, recalling the term from Jack Fenton's stories—and now he was _stretching_, as if this were the most normal thing in the world, as if a ghost hadn't just—!

He picked up the empty thermos, and Harriet grabbed her camera and fled. She didn't stop to look back, barely slowed even when she almost tripped, and kept running even after the stitch in her side had her clutching it in pain and gasping at every stabbing breath. She knew there was a very good chance of Masters—of _Plasmius_—spotting her if he decided to examine the window, but she also knew her pathetic laser lipstick would stand for nothing in an all out fight with the ghost.

If he saw her, if he came after her, she'd lose. She'd be possessed and discredited, or her notes and recordings would be destroyed—maybe her memory, too—or she'd wake up and find herself chained up in some secret dungeon. Who knew what other secrets the mayor was hiding? He was working with a ghost, and not just any ghost, but _Plasmius_, arguably one of the most powerful ghosts based on how well he held his own against Phantom, and—

A locked door would do nothing to keep out a ghost. Harriet had started for her hotel room, but she took an abrupt turn and began running in a different direction instead. There was only one place she could think of to get sanctuary now.

* * *

Jack and Maddie Fenton let her in and turned on the Fenton Ghost Shield they'd told her about at her request. They knew she was shaken, knew it was from an encounter with a ghost, but after a few tries, they didn't press her. Jack went out in the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle, presumably to look for the ghost they'd thought had attacked her, and Maddie made her tea. She kept Harriet company, chatting lightly about a number of frivolous things and giving her multiple openings to talk, pausing each time, and continuing when she didn't.

Harriet knew she might as well tell them as the local news station, but she had no idea how to start.

Good ol' Vladdy, as Jack had called him, was a dear friend of theirs. A former colleague in the field. And now he was as far from that as possible.

"Um, Mom?" She was vaguely aware of the world beyond the hot cup of tea in her hand, beyond the thoughts that swirled in her mind. That was the Fenton boy. "Why, uh, did you turn on the Ghost Shield?"

"Don't worry about it, sweetie. It's just a precaution."

She knew his eyes must be on her, but she didn't look up. "Right," he said slowly. "But this isn't gonna be a new thing, is it? I mean, Jazz already gave you guys the lecture on how much power that would use…."

Harriet let out something that was half laughter, half sob. Imagine, the kids in the household worried about something as normal as the power usage when there was a _ghost_ possessing the most powerful person in town—

"The mayor is compromised," she murmured. "Vladimir Masters is colluding with ghosts. He lets Plasmius possess him. And, oh, god, I think he saw me, and I—" Her throat closed, and she couldn't find her voice, but she'd said it. The truth was out. She raised her head, met Maddie's worried eyes and read the disbelief in them, and then tilted her head to meet Danny's and see the shock written across his features. Not the horrified shock the truth should bring but instead the stunned shock of a discovered secret.

He knew.

He knew what she did.

Perhaps he really was the Daniel whom Masters—Plasmius?—had been discussing. After all, if the Red Huntress was a teenager, she clearly couldn't rule out anyone in this town, and Danny was at least the son of ghost hunters.

A gentle touch on her hand brought her back to reality, and Harriet looked at Maddie. "What makes you say that?" Maddie asked, and the concern in her voice was evident enough. She thought Harriet had seen something, but she thought she was mistaken.

Harriet reached into her pockets with shaking hands and lay the camera, video card, tape recorder, and notebook on the table. The camera held the most damning evidence, but it could all be taken collectively. "Please keep me safe." Her pleas were quiet, but they still sounded loud in the stillness of the kitchen. Too loud. Like he could overhear her. Find her. Come for her. "Please give me sanctuary."

"Danny—"

"Yeah." The boy was moving, suddenly at her side and helping her to her feet. "I'm on it. The guest bedroom is upstairs, Ms. Rayne. You'll feel better after you lie down. Don't worry; no ghost can break through this ghost shield."

His voice cracked on the word _ghost_.

Clearly, he hadn't expected anyone to discover the mayor's secret, much less provide proof of it.

"It's actually Harriet," she confided quietly as he led her up the stairs. "Harriet Cane. I…. You know it's true, don't you?"

Silence.

"The mayor is compromised," she insisted. "Vladimir Masters and Plasmius—"

"Yeah," Danny admitted. "I know. I'll keep you safe."

He sounded like he meant it, the fervor in his voice convincing her despite his age. It was ridiculous, but she believed him, believed that he'd keep her safe, that his family would keep her safe, even if that meant hiding her from their old college friend. From the mayor. From Plasmius.

Well.

She believed they would try.

And she believed the Fenton Ghost Shield would help.

But Vladimir Masters was completely human, and it wouldn't keep him out once he found her, and how could the ghost shield not be a beacon? She'd _told_ him she'd talked to the Fentons, practically told him where to find her, given him the same pseudonym she'd given all her friends at Channel 4 News—

"The news station—"

"Let Mom look at the footage first. If there's another way to explain what you saw, whatever that was, she'll find it. She'll be wrong—you're right, more or less—but that's not what matters. What matters is what Vlad can do. He's an expert manipulator. He'll turn this accusation on you in a second if he can. If there's no easy way, he'll blackmail you, and he can carry through on whatever he threatens. He can destroy you—your career, your family, anything that matters to you—so don't…. Just don't underestimate him, okay?" Anxious blue eyes met her brown. He looked so worried. So afraid. For _her_.

"If you know I'm right," whispered Harriet as Danny ushered her through another door and into a clean, if slightly musty, bedroom, "why don't your parents know the truth? Why haven't you told them?"

"It's complicated," was all Danny said. "Just trust me. I can keep you safe."

She sunk down onto the bed, ignoring the creak of the springs. It seemed like so long ago that she had made that stupid bet with Paul Harrison. What she'd give to just have to worry about buying him that bottle of whisky now. It would be so much _easier_, worrying about that instead of all of this.

She stared at her hands, but she knew Danny hadn't left yet, that he was still waiting for her to say something. "How can you?" she murmured. "How can anyone keep me safe? I can't stay here forever, and once I leave—"

Danny let out a slow breath. "I don't know if you can go back to your old life," he said carefully, "but I've got…connections. Like witness protection, except not connected to the government, so Vlad won't be able to find you."

She looked at him, but he didn't seem to be joking.

"Vlad _will_ find you if you try to go through official channels," he added. "I'm not exaggerating. Between money to bribe people and ghost p—uh, ghostly, um, connections, he can get pretty much anything he wants except for the Packers and a couple other things like that."

"You can say it," she said dully. "Ghost powers, right?" It seemed like a way a teenager might simplify it. "That's what he gains by allowing Plasmius to possess him. Because ghosts can transfer their abilities to objects and people they touch."

Danny winced. "Yeah, okay. That."

She had something wrong—his reaction made that much clear—but she knew she was close enough to the truth that the details wouldn't make enough of a difference. Masters and Plasmius were still working together, and no good would come of that. _Especially_ if they truly held as much power as Danny was implying. "How did you find out?"

He shifted on his feet but didn't answer beyond a mumbled, "It's not important."

"It is if you expect me to trust you. You know what he holds over me, you know that I'm _right_, more or less, and you say you can help, but…." She shook her head. "That won't matter if no one else believes me, especially if he still tries to come after me because of what I know."

"It was an accident," Danny said quietly. "I learned a lot of things then, and I've learned a lot of things since."

It was barely an answer, but it seemed like the most she'd get from him now.

"I'll get you some water. Do you need anything else? Or anything, um, stronger?"

She felt like she could down an entire bottle of whisky, but she shook her head. "Water's fine, thanks." She was better off with a clear head anyway. To face whatever came next. To _survive_.

Even if she couldn't tell anyone else her story. Even if no one else would ever read the article she was writing in her head. Even if no one except for the Fentons themselves ever saw her proof….

_The mayor of Amity Park cannot be trusted. Vladimir Masters, the famously reclusive billionaire who stepped back into the public spotlight to take up the post of small-town mayor, may have had motivations beyond anyone's imagining. It has come to light that Mayor Masters is compromised, working with the very ghosts his town fights against on a daily basis. Vlad Plasmius, formerly known as the Wisconsin Ghost, has been colluding with Masters—_

She hadn't realized Danny had come back until he set the water glass down on the bedside table. "Mom's looking at the video now," he said. "I don't know what exactly it shows, but…. I don't know if she'll believe you. But even if she doesn't, even if she thinks you're wrong, don't…. Don't go. Not yet. Let me help you. Please."

"Okay." It didn't matter if it was ridiculous to trust a teenager with her life. She didn't have a choice. It was crazy, but it wasn't any more crazy than anything else that had happened to her since she'd come to Amity Park. And it was a relief to put her trust in anyone right now, with everything she had hanging over her head. "Thank you."

She didn't know what was going to happen.

She couldn't plan anything.

But she saw that Danny had brought her more than water, that he'd brought her a couple of pens and a pad of paper, and maybe…. Maybe that would be enough for now. Her pencil was long gone, but maybe she could make sure her words weren't so easily lost, no matter what happened to her.

Harriet propped the pillows against the headboard, took a drink of water to steady herself, and picked up a pen and stared at the blank page of the notepad. It was already half-used, telltale glue and jagged paper pieces clinging to the top where the tear hadn't been clean. That was…fitting, somehow. She felt like she'd just been ripped from her life, too.

She had to take it one day at a time now, one _moment_ at a time, but she didn't want to ignore what had brought her to this point, either.

Harriet took a deep breath, and then she began to write.


End file.
